Issen
by fireweed15
Summary: At what cost did this accomplishment come?


No one could ever accuse Japan of not folding paper, and for good reason—it was, in a roundabout manner of speaking, his craft. In fact, he had developed and subsequently taught to his people many of the figures that were part of the origami canon.

One of these figures was _tsuru_, the crane. However, it was not Japan who first discovered the concept of _senbazuru_. No, that was someone else's discovery, an elderly man in a fishing village. Japan still recalled the story told to him in the mid-1600s: upon folding the thousandth figure, a crane appeared to the man in a dream, offering him a wish for having completed the thousand. He had wished for eternal happiness, "and it has been so ever since."

Many people were able to confirm this story, both as witnesses to these granted wishes and those who had completed the _senbazuru_. The idea intrigued Japan, and he endeavored to begin his won one thousand cranes. For all his best efforts, though, he never completed the project. He would begin folding, and perhaps he would fold some (his record was the low two hundreds) before something or other, usually the business of being a nation, pulled him away with the promise that he could try again later.

* * *

August 1945 was a difficult time for Japan. First Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, before his emperor finally surrendered. "The toll has been too high," he had told his nation.

Japan, who stood before the emperor and was leaning heavily on a crutch, who had seen the impact on the people in the bombed cities firsthand, was more than inclined to agree.

* * *

Her name was Sasaki Sadako of Hiroshima, and she was two when the first bomb fell. How it was August 1955—ten years later, and she was twelve. Japan (technically a _nijuu hibakusha_, though he couldn't say he wore the title with pride) had fully recovered, the crutch long ago abandoned; Sadako-kun was afflicted with _hakketsubyou_. For a moment after the nurses confided this in him, Japan felt a pang of guilt. He recovered naturally; the chance that she would not was a very real one.

Still, he swallowed his guilt—it was his job here to see his people and bring them happiness and well wishes, not to feel sorrow for them—and put on a cheerful face to visit her. She was sitting up in bed, her head bent over something on her lap. When she looked up, her face was round and cheerful, despite the reason for her being here to begin with. They exchanged bows and pleasantries, Japan introducing himself by his human name, before he took a seat at her bedside.

After several minutes of polite chatter, during which time the girl had largely kept her head bowed over the project in her lap, Japan asked, "What are you doing, Sadako-kun?"

"Folding origami cranes," she replied, holding up a completed crane. The paper was a soft blue. "My friend Chizuko-chan says that if I fold one thousand, I will be granted a wish." She reached over to her bedside table and picked up a golden paper crane. "She made me my first one."

"What do you think you will wish for?" Japan asked.

Sadako returned the cranes to the bedside table before picking up a square of paper torn from a newspaper. "I will wish to be well again," she announced, carefully folding the paper in half.

* * *

Whatever paper Japan could spare, he would bring to Sadako. It wasn't hard to find—newspapers were plentiful, and wrappings from packages in the mail and gifts were carefully folded over and delivered daily, sometimes every other day when business caught up with the nation. He found he believed in her cranes as much as she did.

Perhaps it was because the alternative to believing that she would get her wish to be well again was not a pleasant one.

* * *

In late October, when Japan arrived with his daily delivery of paper, Sadako's room was different.

It was empty.

He stood, bag of paper squares clutched loosely in his hands, staring at the hospital bed, its sheets turned down waiting for the next patient, for several minutes before the arrival of the nurse prompted him to action, not to mention loosened his tongue. "Where is Sasaki Sadako?"

The nurse looked from the bed to Japan, her eyes sad behind wire-rimmed spectacles. "She passed away, last night. My apologies for the loss of your young friend, Honda-sama."

Japan barely heard the condolences, and felt only the hollowness of grief. "Her family has come for her?" he asked, without really hearing the words. The nurses nodded, and the nation was struck with another thought, one that made his mind begin to race. "Where are here cranes?"

The nurse blinked once, twice in surprise. "Pardon? I don't understand…"

"Sadako-kun's cranes," he repeated, abandoning the bag in the visitor's chair and searching the room. "The ones she was folding—where are they?"

After a moment of hurried looking, the nurse produced a box. Inside, nestled tightly together, were several layers of cranes in varying colors and made from a variety of materials. Japan reached inside and lightly touched the edge of one of the wings. "How many did she make?" he asked softly.

"_Roku yon rei kara yon_," she replied. "Six hundred forty-four."

She didn't make it in time. Japan nodded, bowed and murmured his thanks and left the hospital, his bag in one hand and Sadako's box of cranes under one arm. He suspected he would be busy, and had no time to lose.

* * *

He slept and ate little in the next few days. His hands and fingers ached, his fingertips stained black from newsprint and peppered with little cuts that stung worse than bees. His skin was dry and, by the time he started stringing them all together, starting to crack and bleed. Despite these discomforts, he continued, folding and stringing well into the night, all while keeping a very careful tally.

Finally, he tied a knot at the end of string and cut it loose, considering his handiwork. Forty strings of twenty-five paper cranes, Sadako's _senbazuru_. He had finally, finally found the time and the motivation to fold one thousand.

But, he considered as he laid the strings aside, at what cost did this accomplishment come?


End file.
